


Simon Versus the Slutty Drunk

by runrarebit



Series: Misfits Moments [3]
Category: Misfits (TV 2009)
Genre: AU, Alternate Timeline, Bottom!Nathan, Embarrassment, Horrible cocktail names, In which Nathan makes a whole lot of promises Simon won't let him keep, Just embarrassment all the way down, Loneliness, M/M, No actual sex is had btw, Pervert!Simon, Probably consent issues but it is Misfits so yeah, Sad and Perverted Simon, Sad and Slutty Nathan, Simon's dirty fantasies, even though Simon does consider it, kind of gross, mentions anal prolapse, mentions fisting, mentions watersports, not actually really smut but kind of smutty, wanking invisible in the bathroom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 21:58:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18485200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runrarebit/pseuds/runrarebit
Summary: So I got to thinking about the backstory ofSilky Robes and Stripper Heelsand then this happened. This isn't the entire backstory, but one horrible, terrible, confusing, and arousing night for poor Simon after Nathan actually says 'yes' to coming for a drink after re-burying the bodies in the foundations of the Environmental Monitoring Station. Other than being embarrassing and horrible, turns out Nathan is feeling lonely- and can be a massively, massively slutty drunk.Maybe I'll write more scenes from this universe, but maybe not. You probably have as much of an idea as I do at this point.





	Simon Versus the Slutty Drunk

**Author's Note:**

> I'll just leave this here and creep out of frame. 
> 
> ...
> 
> Oh, also, thank you all so much for reading the last one, and leaving kudos and comments!

The burn of humiliation is hot, heavy— the words, ‘I’m not your whore!’ still feeling as if they are echoing off every building in the urban sprawl he sees around them from the rooftop— but then Nathan stops, turns back and says, ‘You’d be paying, right?’

He agrees, hating his own desperation, his own loneliness, hating the thrill of excitement he feels when Nathan nods and says ‘Well, alright then.’

Riding this sudden high of social acceptance he turns the question to Kelly, but she says she’s not going out until her hair grows back, so it ends up just being the two of them. Him and Nathan. Probably not the best idea he realises as the taller man hooks an arm painfully around his neck and _drags_ him towards whatever bar the Irishman has chosen, mouth constantly chattering with a combination of insults and obscenities— but at least some of the insults are directed at people other than _him_.

It’s awful. Nathan just gets louder the drunker he gets, and he gets very, very drunk very quickly— not even pretending that he’s not taking advantage of the fact that it’s on someone else’s tab— and he’s rude. Mean. Always so very mean. And he quickly starts to feel very much out of his depth and like he wishes he hadn’t done this. Put himself in this situation.

The looks they’re getting aren’t helping either, especially when he comes back from the loos— where he went and hid until the urge to turn invisible faded— only to find Nathan making that oral sex gesture— the V with his fingers, long pink tongue flapping obscenely between them— and humping the air at a pair of offended looking girls— very pretty girls— and the increasingly pissed off looking blond man with them. 

He has no idea why this is happening. When he left Nathan had been sipping on a dreadfully pink cocktail with an embarrassingly obscene name— Pammy’s Pussy, apparently named after the hideously ugly barman’s girlfriend, which is not something he wants to think about too much— and now the man is air humping at a blond man with a face that looks like Kelly has already had a go at kicking it in. ‘I’m sorry!’ he bleats as the man grabs Nathan by the collar. ‘He’s off his medication!’

A spike of guilt and shame rushes through him, making him feel like a traitor, a liar, a deceiver, but surprisingly it actually seems to work, the blond releasing Nathan with a hard shove than sends the tall man flying against him and the words, ‘Maybe you should keep your psycho bitch on a tighter leash.’

He steadies Nathan until the other man gets his feet back under him, feeling the blush burning his face. The way the blond man is looking at them, half the bar is looking at them— do they think he and Nathan are together? Why on Earth would they think that? ‘What happened?’ he asks as he helps Nathan back down into his seat.

‘I think that ugly bastard was hitting on me,’ Nathan slurs, picking up the nearly empty cocktail glass and sucking the last of it obnoxiously through the straw, ‘So I told him he looked like he had a small cock and that I doubt he was capable of satisfying his girlfriend, or his sister, or whatever she was, let alone me— and then one of the girls, but I’m not sure which one it was because I was distracted by how ugly his face was, said something about you, so I told them you had a cock like a Shire Horse— have you ever seen a Shire Horse’s cock? One of mum’s old— well, anyway, his mum lives out in the country on this farm and he dragged us, me and mum, there one Christmas, and she had this great big horse, like _massive,_ and it’d just stand around with its cock out all the time and I couldn’t help staring, and then Pete told mum he thought I was a gay and a pervert so she had a big fight with him and then we came back home— but that’s not the point. The point is I told them you have a cock like a Shire Horse— and then— and then—’ Nathan’s face wrinkles up. ‘Why did I tell them you have a cock like a Shire Horse? I don’t know what your cock’s like, it could be Chihuahua size for all I know— I bet they now think I’m a gay, like I spend every night trying to unhinge my jaw like a python to get the thing down— you shouldn’t have left me on my own Barry.’ Who’s Barry? ‘It’s all your fault they’re probably thinking I’m sitting here with an anal prolapse from being bent over the moment we’re alone and done rough and dry with your whopping great perverted Shire Horse schlong.’

‘Oh God,’ he bleats.

‘Get me another one of these,’ Nathan says, wiggling the glass at him, ‘I think I’d like to spend a bit more time sucking on Pammy’s Pussy.’

When he finally convinces Nathan it’s time to leave the bar he’s faced with another problem. The problem is that Nathan’s now so utterly pissed that he can’t even walk properly. It’s horrible. What’s he supposed to do with the other man now? If he takes him back to the community centre he’ll probably choke on his own vomit and die in the night and then that’ll be _his_ fault. He sort of wants to do it anyway, or maybe leave Nathan in an alleyway for some poor unsuspecting sexual pervert to come across and then have a horrible time the moment he tries to molest the gobby Irishman. 

In the end he gets them a taxi and brings Nathan back around to his. His mum’s taken his sister to spend the night with his aunt— who’s just got out of the hospital— so at least the house is empty. If it wasn’t— this awful image of Nathan hitting on both his mum and his sister at once, maybe even suggesting a threesome, crosses his mind and makes him shudder. 

In the taxi Nathan starts singing Celene Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On” very, very loudly, mainly off key, and with half the words replaced with ‘nyer, nyer, something, I’ve got no fucking clue, hyi, hyi, hyi, hyi, hyer,’ and leaning on him in a way that could almost be misconstrued as affectionate if it wasn’t Nathan. He hates it. It’s dreadful. He pushes himself as close to the door of the taxi as possible, trying to take up the smallest amount of space he can. while Nathan seems to expand to fit the entire back seat in a louche, leggy sprawl. 

Once they’ve arrived at his he has a moment in which he almost asks the taxi driver to take them back to the community centre, but he’s committed now, so all he can do is take Nathan inside. As he drags the taller man out of the taxi and up the path towards the front door he feels thoroughly chastened. Maybe this is what he gets for trying to make friends. Horrible Irish boys hanging off him, their hands squirming all over him like tentacles, long fingers brushing against— he flinches, almost drops Nathan— ‘What are you doing?’

‘I thought I could give you a handie,’ Nathan slurs against his neck, fingers rubbing uncoordinatedly against the front of his trousers. ‘You’ve been a real gentleman tonight Barry.’

‘Don’t do that!’ he snaps, slapping at the fingers now insistently trying to worm their way into his flies. ‘I don’t want a handie.’

‘Don’t be like that,’ Nathan whines, almost getting a hand down his trousers, before he manages to catch it, feeling long, thin and rather warm and clammy and very, very drunk feeling fingers try weakly and uncoordinatedly to wriggle out of his grip, ‘I’ve been told I’m rather good at it. I’ll even let you spunk on my face, how about it?’

For one dreadful moment the image crosses his mind. That pretty, expressive face, those full lips, those large, dark eyes, those long lashes, that dark, curly hair— Nathan on his knees in front of him, mouth open and waiting and wanting like a woman from a porno— he feels his dick twitch. ‘No!’ he yelps. ‘No. I do not want you anywhere near my— my cock.’

‘ _Come on_ Barry,’ Nathan whines, ‘I’m horny. You’re horny. We’re two young, healthy, horny lads. If you want you can keep your eyes shut and imagine I’m a girl.’ _Seriously, who’s Barry?_

And then Nathan starts humping his hip like an overly excitable terrier. He yelps, fumbling at the lock, eventually getting the door open and dragging Nathan inside roughly. He can just imagine it, Matt looking out the window and seeing him pinned against the front of his house by an amorous Nathan— he goes cold with the prospective humiliation. 

Nathan slips out of his grasp at the rough treatment, landing heavily and awkwardly on his knees while he’s shutting and locking the door, glancing out until the last moment to see if there’s anyone around who might have seen them, who might then spread it around the neighbourhood— Simon’s shameful gay hookup with a boy who is, just as shamefully, probably way out of his league— He doesn’t see anyone. 

With a relieved sigh he turns around and then yelps, flinching back until his back hits the door. Nathan, on his knees in front of him, follows, nuzzling forward and pressing his face against the swelling crotch of his trousers. ‘I’ll be honest Barry,’ is what the Irishman says between nuzzles, ‘I’m not sure I have the coordination right now to try and suck your cock. I’m just saying it’ll probably end in me chucking up all over your lap— but knowing you that’s something you’re probably into, so we can give it a try if you want.’

A noise, high pitched and incomprehensible even to himself, escapes his mouth. He stares down at Nathan, pretty and pretty horrible, on his knees in front of him, those lovely eyes looking sleepy and drunk, long pink tongue slipping out to wet those full lips, before lapping at the seam of his trousers— his cock _throbs._

For a moment temptation strikes, It would be easy to reach down, undo his flies, pull out his cock and feed it between those puffy pink lips— maybe curl his hand into the hair at the back of Nathan’s head, force it down, not let Nathan pull back, not until he _choked._ Fuck his face maybe. Either make him swallow it or pull back in time to paint spunk all over his face like he suggested, get it all over the other’s lovely, judgemental, mocking eyes so he has to keep them shut, so he can’t _see_ him and—

‘No!’ he reiterates, more firmly. ‘You’re drunk. You don’t actually want to suck my cock,’ and then a tiny, irrational and unwanted, spike of jealousy. ‘You want to suck _Barry’s._ ’

‘But _you’re_ Barry,’ Nathan slurs, confused, against the front of his trousers, the heat of his breath, the movement of his mouth against the swollen bulge of his penis making him shudder and thrust, just once, before he can get hold of himself. 

Nathan is obviously far too drunk to know what’s going on and he’s not— he’s not— after that girl, at the club, that terrible night where Matt had— well. He knows he’s a pervert, he doesn’t need Nathan constantly reminding him, the things he thinks when wanks, the porn he watches— but after that night he decided he’s not going to be _that_ sort of pervert. He’s not going to go after drunk, high, unconscious girls— well, _people,_ this experience is teaching him— he’s not going to _touch_ people that don’t want him touching them— and a spike of guilt shoots through him about the locker room, Kelly and Alicia not being able to see he was there— but looking’s only looking. Looking doesn’t do any _harm_. It’s the _harm_ that he’s decided he doesn’t want to do. He doesn’t want to end up a rapist— He knows himself well enough to know it’d be very easy to end up a rapist.

It’ll all be better in the morning, once Nathan’s slept this off. Hell, the other man will probably never want to speak to him again, so there’s that. That sounds good. It does sound good, doesn’t it?

Nathan’s drunk enough that it’s easy to push him away, to help the other man to his feet, ignoring all the ‘Barry? Barry? Barry? Why are you ignoring me? I hate it when people ignore me,’ that the Irishman is slurring, and to get them moving in the direction of the stairs. Getting them up the stairs is another matter.

Drunk and uncoordinated and obviously still horny, Nathan is profoundly unhelpful, preferring to just hang off him, paw at him, lick at his neck, and coo in his ear. ‘You’re so strong Barry,’ Nathan slurs wetly against his neck, and it’s obliteratingly arousing and profoundly obnoxious, and he has this horrible sense that whenever he sees Nathan in the future he’s going to feel the same. The usual quiet urge to hurt, to _humiliate_ the other the way Nathan humiliates him— even though he bites that urge down because he wants to be Nathan’s _friend_ for some deranged, masochistic reason— is now going to be overlaid with the same unwanted sexual nonsense he feels when he looks at Alicia or Kelly. 

‘Why have I done this to myself?’ he finds himself asking the universe.

Eventually he manages to drag Nathan into his bedroom. From an outsider’s perspective this must, of course, look highly dubious— but the image of the Irishman tucked up in bed in the guestroom in all it’s pink and flowery Laura Ashly wholesomeness— and his mother’s reaction if she comes back to discover Nathan’s done— any of the things Nathan might chose to do alone in bed while drunk— all over her good sheets— No. Better to get Nathan tucked up in his bed while he goes and sleeps in the guestroom. 

He pushes the other man to sit on the edge of his bed, drags Nathan’s jacket off, before getting to his knees to pull off the Irishman’s shoes. ‘Oh Barry,’ Nathan sighs, thrusting his hips upwards, ‘You know you don’t have to, but I do appreciate it.’

‘I’m not going to suck your cock,’ he says, possibly ruining this impression by reaching for the button of the other man’s jeans. He doesn’t want Nathan sleeping in his bed fully dressed— even if he’s going to change the sheets the moment he makes the boy leave in the morning— it’s just not hygienic. 

There is a moment of blessed silence and then Nathan says, ‘I haven’t done that before so you can’t just go sticking it in, ok? There’s gotta be lube. And fingers! If it’s going to be dry I don’t think I want to do it. Maybe we could just cuddle? Or hump each other?’ 

‘Are you always such a slut when you’re drunk?’ he snaps, pulling away with Nathan’s jeans halfway down the other man’s legs. ‘I am not trying to fuck you! _Get it through your thick skull!_ ’

‘Everyone’s always trying to fuck me when I’m drunk,’ Nathan slurs, lying on the bed like a puppet with its strings cut and peering at him in confusion. 

‘Well _I’m_ not,’ he reiterates. With a sigh he reaches for Nathan’s jeans again, stripping them the rest of the way off and then stopping, staring. He has beautiful legs, Nathan, long and curvy— and for a moment it is all but impossible to resist the urge to touch, to run his fingers over silky skin, to squeeze firm flesh, to press them together and slot his cock in between Nathan’s thighs, to pull back and come all over every inch of divine flesh now exposed to him— he hears himself let out a low groan, his hips dancing forward, before he gets himself under control. ‘Get on the bed,’ he says, wincing a little at how low and wrecked his voice sounds, ‘Properly I mean. And lie on your side. I don’t want you choking on your own vomit in the night—’ a thought occurs to him so he gets to his feet ‘—I’ll go get a bucket.’

‘Kinky,’ Nathan purrs, flailing a little as he pulls his legs up onto the bed, before managing to curl onto his side in a way that contorts his long, slender body into a cock-throbbingly, gut clenchingly, horrible and seductive pose. ‘You are coming back, right?’ the Irishman asks, suddenly sounding small and vulnerable, and that’s like another blow to the balls. He has so many regrets right now.

‘Of course I am,’ he says, scurrying from the room. 

Instead of fleeing downstairs for the bucket he flees to the bathroom, staring at the wide-eyed, wild haired, and flushed man he’s turned into in the mirror. He carefully smooths his fringe back down, telling himself that this is not the worst thing that has ever happened to him. Matt’s mum isn’t screaming at him while he’s got his cock out and stuffed through her letter box— also there is no dead probation worker around and no one’s trying to kill him. He just doesn’t know what to do. He wishes there was someone he could talk to about this, but then he imagines messaging shygirl18 about it— and she’d never talk to him again. She might if it was a girl he was having this problem with, but if she knew he apparently also likes boys— even _he_ didn’t know he also apparently likes boys until now. It explains a lot of the things he’s thought and felt about Matt over the years though— and now he feels even more humiliated. He feels that feeling come on, the world juddering back and forth around him.

When he can focus again he’s gone invisible. Great. 

Maybe he could go back out there and just have a look— Nathan might be wanking, Nathan might be _fingering_ himself— the thought is alarmingly erotic. His cock throbs, hot and angry. He imagines creeping back into his room to find Nathan fully naked, spreadeagled on the bed, two— no, _three_ fingers pumping in and out of his own arse— that obnoxious voice caught up in moaning his name, _Simon,_ not crying out for whoever this Barry is. 

With a helpless little whine he stumbles over to the toilet, gets his flies undone, his cock out, and starts squeezing. He comes in about four strokes, brain whiting out to the image of it being _his_ fingers up Nathan’s arse, getting him ready to take his cock. 

When he comes down he realises he’s once more become visible. Also, apparently he is even more of a massive pervert than he thought he was. 

As he cleans himself up he comforts himself to the thought that he might have just wanked about the most obnoxious person he knows, but at least he didn’t do it while imagining he was pissing all over Nathan’s pretty nipples, or sticking a fist, maybe _both_ fists, up Nathan’s apparently virginal arse, or keeping the Irishman tied to his bed and feeding him nothing but his spunk— so it’s ok. It’s all ok. 

It takes Nathan calling out ‘Barry! Where did you go? Are you coming back?’ in a plaintive whine to get him to leave the bathroom. He trots downstairs and fetches the bucket, hesitating outside his bedroom door until he hears Nathan whine ‘Barry!’ again.

‘Here’sthebucketifyouneedtothrowupI’llseeyouinthemorningremembertosleeponyourside!’ he blurts out as he dumps the bucket in question by the bed and prepares to flee. 

Nathan catches him by the jacket. ‘Where are you going?’

‘I’m going to sleep in the guest room,’ he replies.

There is a momentary pause, a frown appearing between the other man’s unacceptably pretty brows, and then Nathan says, voice small, ‘Don’t leave me alone. Please, Barry.’

‘I’ll just be down the hall,’ he says, pointing helplessly at the door. 

‘ _Please,_ ’ Nathan stresses, and then ‘I’m so lonely.’

Well that’s it. That’s him done. What’s he supposed to do now? ‘Ok,’ he says eventually, and then has to struggle with a disbelieving Nathan to get the other to let go of his jacket. Eventually his pulls away, almost falling over as he does, and takes the thing off. Toeing off his shoes, even though he prefers to take them off properly, and then hesitating about his trousers— he does not want to sleep in them. They are not all that comfortable. And also he does not like sleeping in his clothes— his eyes flicker to his pyjamas, still neatly folded up at the end of the bed. ‘I’m going to put my pyjamas on,’ he tells Nathan, ‘so you have to promise me you won’t look.’

‘You don’t want to do a little striptease?’ the other man asks, sitting up on the bed and letting his legs flop open in a way that is both horrible inviting and rather obscene, ‘You know, get me in the mood?’

‘I don’t want you in the mood,’ he snaps, knowing at this point that he is, in fact, lying to himself. ‘ _Please,_ Nathan, just keep your eyes shut.’

With a sigh Nathan flops back on the bed, covering his face in is hands. ‘I promise I won’t peek,’ he says, voice muffled.

Getting his pyjamas means he has to come closer to his bed, means he has to walk straight by Nathan— Nathan who is wearing nothing but a skimpy pair of purplish-grey briefs that show off the obscene bulge of his semi-hard cock and a t-shirt that’s now ridden up and is exposing a frankly _lickable_ strip of the other’s lower abdomen, little tufts of pubic hair escaping the underwear at the top and around the leg-holes and— Right now he is extremely glad he just had an incredibly embarrassing wank. His cock would be more than twitching, it would be in danger of busting his flies elsewise.

He snatches up the pyjamas and flees across the room, stripping methodically with his back to the bed and pulling on the pyjamas as fast as he can. When he turns around he sees Nathan watching him with hot, drowsy eyes. ‘You’ve got a good body Barry, I wasn’t expecting that,’ the man says.

‘If you don’t stop flirting with me, I am going to go and sleep in the guest room,’ he warns— something he never thought he’d ever have to say— which surprisingly seems to shut Nathan up.

It’s not that strange sleeping in a bed with another boy. Friends do it all the time, don’t they? Or at least he used to with Matt back when they were kids and the blond didn’t absolutely despise him— and then, making him shudder with embarrassment, he remembers the last time they’d done so, at Matt’s house, and how he’d woken up with his hips still thrusting, front pressed to Matt’s back, a very obvious wet spot spreading between them, his arms wrapped tight around the other boy’s waist to hold him in place, Matt making little panicked noises in his embrace— Things had been weird between them after that, and not long after Matt had gotten _cruel._

He doesn’t think Nathan can get any crueller to him than the other man is generally, and anyway, if anyone should have more to be embarrassed about the events of this night it has to be _Nathan._ Slutty, apparently not actually entirely _heterosexual,_ Nathan.

He approaches the bed with caution, climbing onto it and behind Nathan so the other can have the edge nearest the bucket. The moment he lies down the Irishman is all over him, arms around him, hips pumping away, ‘Kiss me Barry,’ Nathan sighs.

‘No!’ he snaps, yet again, pulling away. ‘No kissing. No humping. None of it! You hate me and you’ll be angry enough in the morning as it is.’

‘I won’t be,’ Nathan promises, ‘What happens when you’re drunk’s different, isn’t it?’

‘Not to me,’ he says, pushing the other away, and when that doesn’t work actually manhandling Nathan until the other is lying on his side, facing the edge of the bed. Then, no other choice, he curls his arms around Nathan and _holds him in place._ ‘Go to sleep,’ he orders.

There is a pause, and then Nathan says, voice small, ‘You can do it, if you’d like. Even dry—just don’t leave me alone. I’m so lonely Barry.’

‘I’m not going to leave you alone,’ he promises, feeling a sudden— and deeply _unwanted_ —surge of affection for the other. Feeling like he’s losing his mind he leans in and presses a kiss to the back of Nathan’s head, feeling the other boy shudder in his arms. ‘I’ll still be here in the morning. Now _go to sleep._ ’

Just as he’s following his own advice he hears Nathan say, voice small and soft and pleasant, ‘Sleep well Barry.’

In the morning he wakes to the realisation that Nathan’s pissed the bed in the night in his sleep.


End file.
